Black Star
by Rashka
Summary: First she had to break free. Now she has to find her feet. Part 2 of 3 of the Stargazer Series.


A/N: Holy Chocolate Chip Cookies! The response to my first Dramione story, "Someone Else's Star" has been beyond phenomenal. Thank you so so _so_ much for all the favorites, follows, and wonderfully supportive reviews. I am so very humbled. –bows-

Disclaimer: Anything recognizable from the HP-verse belongs to Rowling. The title is a jewelry company but could just as easily be a black hole. Ah, the imagery. There's also a Braveheart quote in here. Cookie to who finds it!

Black Star

Shopping with Hermione Granger was an interesting experience.

"Dress slacks?"

"You're echoing again, dear."

The girl blushed, tucking some of her not-so-wild-anymore hair behind her ear.

"Sorry," she said. "This is just so strange. I mean, I know you made me all pretty for the Gala but that was just so I could walk in with Draco and make Ron jealous or show him up or something."

"What a thing to say." Narcissa smiled and handed her a pair of charcoal grey slacks. "You're sure you were sorted into the right house?"

Sending her a mildly peeved look, Hermione took the slacks and a few other things to the dressing room. It had been six months since the wedding-that-wasn't. It had been another three weeks since the Gryffindor princess had arrived at the Ministry of Magic's Spring Gala on the arm of Draco Malfoy.

Just as friends, of course.

"These feel different," Hermione said through the dressing room door. Narcissa hid a smile and went to sit in one of the chairs.

"They're high-quality," she said.

"The work pants I have now are fine, Narcissa, really. Weren't you looking for a new cardigan? Why don't we go hunt for that?"

"Purchasing high-quality basics makes your wardrobe last longer. This is all in the name of practicality, darling."

That got her. Narcissa learned from Draco the right words to say to appeal to her intelligence, and, truthfully, she wouldn't have expected anything less. It was taking a little longer for Hermione to learn not to argue with her but that would come.

Finally, the younger witch came out of the dressing room in the charcoal slacks and a smart white dress shirt.

"Very nice," Narcissa said, standing. "Very appropriate."

"I actually have a figure." Hermione turned to look at herself in the mirror and, indeed, she did have a petite little figure. It was no wonder none of the boys noticed her at school. The poor girl kept drowning herself in those ridiculous robes.

Narcissa never really understood the point of those wretched things. So ungainly.

"Stay here, dear. I just thought of the perfect shoes."

"I—but I have shoes!"

She ignored her and headed over to the wall bearing different heels and flats. A pair of strappy silver heels caught her eye but she resisted. Too safe. The whole point of this excursion was to get her to branch out a little.

Ah. There. Narcissa grabbed a pair of low, bright red heels and was just about to head back when she heard the distinct sound of a pack of girls. A slight frown creased her brow as she quickened her pace. The pack beat her to Hermione and surrounded her, four girls giggling and muttering to each other. They all looked about Hermione's age. School mates, perhaps?

"I hear you're up for promotion." One of the girls actually spoke to Hermione. "Congratulations."

"Thank you." Her witch looked wary. Not scared exactly but she settled her weight on her back leg as if expecting something.

"How are things with Draco?" another girl asked. "You two seem to be quite the item now."

"We're just friends."

The girls made condescending noises and one patted her on the arm.

"It's okay, honey," she said. "Everyone knows you slept with him at your hen party."

"That is _quite_ enough." Narcissa stalked over and the girls scattered like the rats they were. She recognized them now, Pureblood daughters from lesser houses. Pathetic. When did jealousy become so tactless?

"Change back into your clothes," she told Hermione. The girl looked caught between shock, hurt, and hexing them all into oblivion. Narcissa gave her a push.

"Change, then we'll get something to eat."

"Yes, ma'am."

B

The next time she saw Hermione, the girl was running about the Ministry building as if the world would come to an end if she stopped. Narcissa gave her a wave but the girl only half-responded, her face anxious and haggard.

"Mum." Draco met her at the front desk, probably finishing something business-related. "What are you doing here?"

"I had an appointment with our caretaker, remember?"

Her son's eyes flashed in annoyance but the rest of his face stayed relaxed. The man she had come to see wasn't so much a 'caretaker' as he was a 'probation officer.' It was asinine and a complete waste of money but if regularly speaking with a babysitter about her family's comings and goings kept them in the Ministry's good graces, fine. Narcissa could play nice when she needed to.

"Have you spoken to Hermione today?" she asked.

"No, why?"

Narcissa hummed, glancing in the direction Hermione had gone, and Draco nodded.

"See you at home." And he was gone, long legs eating up the granite floor in strong, confident steps. Narcissa walked just as confidently in the other direction and she was right. The meeting was a complete waste of time but she smiled and asked about his family anyway. Never with specific names, of course. That made people nervous.

An hour later, after she imagined a full fifty-three things to do to the man's sad little mustache, Narcissa left the Ministry. She decided to walk this time, enjoy the sun. Most stepped aside, though whether it was because of her carriage or her name, she wasn't sure. It didn't really matter.

She felt the hum of a barrier more than she heard it. Rounding a corner, she saw Draco standing at the far end of a small alley with Hermione clinging to his suit jacket. Narcissa couldn't hear anything from this side of the charm but she saw the cold, coiling fury in her son as he held her.

Hermione was screaming.

B

"I hate people."

"Darling, we don't 'hate' anyone. 'Hate' is too obvious."

"No, I'm pretty sure I hate people. Stupid people, especially."

"Well, of course."

Narcissa watched Hermione pace across the Malfoy sitting room, a lion in a cage, and wondered when exactly the girl stopped being a predator. She had the smarts for it, clearly, so why—of course. Gryffindor morals. One never fought for something as selfish as one's reputation.

"The Department of Magical Law Enforcement!" Hermione threw up her hands. "Anyone who knows me cannot possibly be surprised about this. How can they say I didn't earn it?"

"People will say anything to make themselves feel better," Narcissa said.

"Well, they're completely daft! Draco wants to hex them all and I've half a mind to let him."

She sincerely doubted her son wanted to do anything as petulant as a hex. Mess with their dreams, perhaps. Send them locks of hair from various family members and maybe an animated drawing of them sleeping…

The older witch kept that to herself.

"So what will you do?" she asked instead.

Hermione let out her breath in a huff and came to sit next to her on the sofa. Dressed as she was in a black pencil skirt, green dress shirt, and black suit jacket, she certainly looked the part of a constable. But the passion that earned her the position in the first place seemed to be flickering.

"When the war ended," Hermione said. "I thought all the backbiting and political mud-slinging would stop."

Narcissa didn't laugh though she did allow herself a small smile. The younger witch nodded.

"I know," she sighed. "I was naïve. Things were just so much simpler at Hogwarts, you know? Now, here I am, three-and-a-half years later, and half the wizarding world thinks I'm loony, the other half thinks I'm a whore."

She looked at her, toffee-brown eyes exhausted.

"What would you do?"

Narcissa thought for a moment, letting her gaze travel around the room. Hundreds of meetings had been held here. Everything from scheming socialites to Death Eaters had passed through her doors and, in all honesty, she regretted most of them. She had been younger then, had enjoyed the intrigue and the satisfaction of seeing pride in her husband's eyes. She did it all for him, and later, for Draco.

Not very noble, perhaps, but there it was.

"We are not nice people, darling." Narcissa folded her hands in her lap. "Think very carefully of what you're asking."

Hermione chewed on her lip—she'd have to break her of that habit—and glanced down at the carpet.

"Somehow…somehow I just get the feeling that no matter how hard I work, they're still going to say things. I'll do my job, of course. Do the best I can. But I don't want to kill myself for people who don't care anyway."

"Wise."

She thought for a minute longer.

"I need them to see _me_."

Narcissa smiled.

B

"A party, Mum?"

"Parties solve everything, dear."

Draco gave her a dubious look as he handed her a drink. To the press and anyone who mattered, this party was all Hermione's idea. It was a 'thank you' to all of the people who had supported her over the years, a show of appreciation and an acknowledgement for the new career opportunity. Teachers, ministry officials, her new employers, even the Weasleys were invited. Clean slate, and all that.

A few less-than-tactful people commented on the Malfoys' involvement but after a few whispers in the right ears, everyone knew Hermione paid for it. It was a modest affair, in a rented garden nowhere near Wiltshire with simple food and good music.

The fact that Narcissa quietly reimbursed her for the venue and the caterer was nobody's business but theirs.

"Hey, pretty girl." Draco smiled over her shoulder and she turned to see Hermione walk up in a sweet, pink chiffon dress. She smiled back, eyes wide.

"Do I look—"

"Scared to death? Yes."

She stuck her tongue out at Draco, who chuckled and drained his drink.

"Enough of that." Narcissa quickly checked the girl's appearance before nodding. "You know the guest list. Be gracious and remember to smile. They can't take that from you."

"Don't be a know-it-all," Draco said. Hermione wrinkled her nose then took a breath.

"All right. Here I go."

They watched her plunge into the fray with all the boldness of her house then winced when she laughed a little too loud.

"This will be interesting," Draco muttered.

"Really, have you no confidence at all?"

"Absolutely none, no."

Narcissa raised an eyebrow.

"When are you going to ask her?"

He glanced at his feet then up at the crowd.

"Little early for that, isn't it, Mum?"

"I'm not getting any younger."

"Or you could get a dog. Dress him up in those frilly little things you made me wear." He grinned at her surprised look. "Yeah, I remember. And you better hope you're ambulatory well into your nineties or I'm going to put you in the most god-awful things I can find."

"Nice to know my son has such monumental love for me."

Smirking, Draco raised his glass in a salute before going off to make nice. Honestly, sometimes she could just kill him.

B

The sharp snap of an apparition startled Narcissa more than she cared to admit. Hermione stood in their library dressed in chocolate slacks, a white dress shirt, and a long camel trenchcoat covered in mud. Her thick hair had been pulled back in a tight French braid but wisps of it still stuck out in random directions. Wide, wild eyes looked at them without really seeing.

"A little girl," she gasped. "It was a little girl. They killed her. M-muggle-born."

No guess on who 'they' were but why was she here? Surely her friends—

"Where's Potter?" Draco asked, coming to grip her elbow. Hermione shook her head, a quick, jerky motion.

"I couldn't." Her eyes welled up with tears and she looked up at Draco with all the desperate anguish of a child. "You didn't—I-I'm not…"

She held up her left arm, the same arm Bellatrix had marked. So that was it. She was Muggle-born and he wasn't and it was a little girl and please, for the love of all things sacred, let them not see her that way.

Draco crushed the trembling woman to his chest, strong and solid as his father had never been. Narcissa came to put a light hand on her back.

"You're staying here tonight."

B

She found Draco in his father's study. He sat in one of the wingback chairs, facing the fireplace with a glass of scotch in one hand, his other clenched tightly on the armrest. His eyes glittered in the dim light.

"I hate him."

Narcissa stopped just inside the firelight and folded her hands.

"The things he said, the things he made me do…I can't even look in the mirror anymore."

"We all betray," she said quietly. "We all lose heart."

He smashed the glass in the fireplace.

"I don't want to lose heart!" He curled his fists on his knees. "It's Bellatrix all over again. I saw fire and hope and it _died_. We took it away from her. I—"

Her eyes stung as she watched her son slump back into the chair.

"I miss him, Mum."

"I know." She leaned down to hug his neck. "I know."

B

What followed was as ugly and intense as any war. Hermione threw herself into the murder case, ruthless, snarling, her thick hair looking more and more like a mane every day.

Purebloods and muggle-borns both fell to her wrath. Bigoted, hateful creatures all and Narcissa knew better than anyone how such twisted hearts operated. The war had ended but the violence had not.

Potter tried to calm her. Weasley, simple boy, tried to forbid her. Draco laughed and brought her lunch at the Department when she forgot to eat.

The Ministry started to fear the beast they had let loose. She wasn't political, she wasn't even diplomatic, and more and more officials grew nervous. They had only just settled into this new peace and to have such loud investigations stirring up their cozy little nests was unacceptable. Everyone was questioned, no matter their status. If they could be connected to a case, she went after them, a healer scrubbing the wound to clean, not to coddle.

The Malfoys were not exempt. Narcissa sat in Hermione's office more than once and answered all her questions. It was deep and personal and wildly uncomfortable but over and over again, she and Draco were cleared.

"I have to do this," Hermione said wearily. "I can't play favorites."

"Of course not, dear." Narcissa smiled at the haggard, determined girl. "We are not afraid of the light."

Through it all, Muggle-borns died and Hermione wept and raged and hunted.

B

"I hate them."

"Yes, darling."

Narcissa and Hermione sat in the gardens, a cooling pot of tea on the wrought-iron table between them. The heavy scent of honeysuckle floated on the breeze and the sun had just begun to set on the other side of the house.

"The trials start tomorrow," Hermione said.

"Yes."

"You're not coming."

"No."

The younger witch sighed and looked up at the slowly emerging stars.

"Something will always be wrong." The bitterness in her voice was hard to miss. "Someone'll get angry or hurt or just have a bad day and then the whole cycle will start again but I can't catch the pebbles. I can only throw a stick at whatever boulder's coming at me."

She turned to her, toffee eyes almost black in the fading light.

"Is it worth it?"

The crest ring on Narcissa's hand pulsed and she looked towards the house. Draco stepped out a moment later, still in his suit from work. He took the stone path in long strides, waving when she caught his eye.

"Perhaps," she said. "If you make it worth it."

Hermione rubbed her eyes, offering a small smile.

"Yeah. Guess that's the trick, isn't it?"

"Good evening, ladies," Draco said, reaching the table. "Hey, pretty girl."

He turned a warm smile on Hermione and the girl stood to give him a tired hug. Narcissa tilted her head, almost seeing the tension in the constable easing out of her back and shoulders. She tapped a finely manicured finger on the edge of her teacup. Soon.

"Draco, darling, take her inside and get her something comfortable to wear. We'll eat dinner in about twenty minutes."

"Yes, mum." Taking her hand, Draco led Hermione back up the path, the girl leaning her head on his shoulder as they walked.

Narcissa hid a smile. Soon.


End file.
